ehead. She did not move, but smiled
softly in her sleep, and he stole away, blessing her.

Elizabeth's heart gave a sudden leap when he came into her room again
and sat down by her side. He felt how cold her hand was, and kissed it.

"Elizabeth!"

She turned, frightened by the tone of his voice. It was hoarse with
emotion.

"Elizabeth, I have one charge to give before we part."

She bent her head in sorrowful submission.

"Elsie, my sister!"

He did not notice the red flame that shot up to her cheek, or the
shrinking of her whole frame, but went on.

"The child is so precious to me. The dearest human being I have on
earth--" He hesitated a moment, and added, "Except--except you, my
wife."

She was grateful even for this. Was it that she was conscious of
deserving nothing more, or did the hungry yearning of her heart seize on
this sweet aliment with thankfulness after the famine of her recent
life?

He saw the tears spring into her eyes, and drew her closer to his side.

"Be careful of her for my sake, Elizabeth. She was given me in solemn
charge at my mother's death-bed. She has been the sweetest solace of my
barren life. Let no harm come near her--no evil thing taint the mind
which I leave in your hands pure as snow. Guard her, love her, and give
her back to me, gentle, guileless, and good, as she lies now, in the
sweetest and most innocent sleep I ever witnessed."

"I will! I will!" answered Elizabeth, conquering a sharp spasm of pain
with the spirit of a martyr. "If human care, or human sacrifice can
insure her welfare, I will not be found wanting."

Grantley bent down and kissed his wife gratefully.

"Remember, Elizabeth, my happiness and honor are left in your keeping."

Did he mean that honor and happiness both were bound up in Elsie, or had
he really thought of her rightful share in his life?

This question flashed through the young wife's mind, but she would not
accept it in a bitter sense then. The parting hour was close at hand.
She trembled as each moment left them.

"I will be kind to Elsie as you can desire; indeed I will," she said.
"You can trust me."

"If I doubted that, harassing as the voyage is, I would take her with
me."

"Oh, if you only could take us both! It terrifies me to be left alone,
surrounded with--"

"That is out of the question now. But when I come back, we will try and
make this life of ours happier than it has been."

She looked at him--her great, mournful ey